Wonderful Christmas
by Tiro
Summary: Voldemort and Harry during Christmas. Slash.


**Wonderful Christmas**

**Summary**: Voldemort and Harry during Christmas. Slash.

**Pairing/s**: VoldemortHarry.

**Warnings**: Light!Bashing, Nice!Voldemort, Dark!Harry, mentioning of violence and so on. Plus fluff. Beware of the fluff.

**Disclaimers**: I don't own Harry Potter nor do I make any money writing fanfiction.

-o-

I nearly forgot my Christmas one-shot! Real life can be so busy…

Anyway, enjoy!

-o-

Voldemort entered the dim bedroom and shuddered at the cold. He lit the fire with a flick of his wand, stashed it into his robes before walking up to the bed. He patted the covers, smiling as he found a hip and pulled the blankets aside until he could stroke the white, soft skin, smoothing his hand over a flat stomach before moving it up to the chest.

"You are naked," he informed the sleepy man.

"That's your fault," was the groggy reply. "And I'm sticky. That's also your fault. You're awfully horny for your age."

"Quiet that potty mouth, Mr Potter."

Harry Potter, age twenty-one, stuck his tongue out. Voldemort saw this as an invitation and they kissed. Harry fell back on the bed and brought the Dark Lord with him.

"You are naked," Voldemort repeated.

"Yes, I heard you the first time…"

"You naked in a bed does not calm my nerves."

"Didn't you get enough last night?" Harry wondered. "Why are you up so damn early?"

"It's more like you're sleeping late. Come on, I'll draw up a bath for you."

"You're in my grasp, slave…"

Voldemort only chuckled at that and left Harry half-asleep as he went to fill the tub. The Dark Lord let a hand rest over his chest, against his beating heart. It was still such a foreign but precious feeling, love. A love he was only capable of feeling due to Harry's persistence.

A fresh smell of peppermint filled the air and Voldemort removed his outer robe. Harry was a spoiled young man but he didn't mind. He rather enjoyed actually spoiling someone. He had never done so and up until Harry, he never thought he would. After all, Dark Lords only killed.

Harry stepped into the bathroom, naked and leaned against the doorframe.

"I got tired of waiting for you," he said. "Is it ready?"

"Impatient, are we, my brat? Do you wish to go to the Minister's Christmas ball that much?"

"Ugh, don't remind me," Harry groaned. "Can't I stay at home?"

"And let me endure the torture alone? Perish the thought and get your arse in the bath before I bodily throw you in."

Harry huffed but stepped into the tub, sinking down. He didn't startle as Voldemort moved his head so the hair became wet. It was their routine. Harry knew how to take a bath. He had been taking them himself since he was three years old, when Petunia deemed him old enough so she didn't have to touch his freaky body.

As if magic was contagious. Plus magic would have fled if it accidently entered Petunia, Harry was sure of it. But he knew showers, and baths. How to scrub himself clean and shampoo his hair. Only… it was nice being taken care of. Voldemort seemed to enjoy it too so Harry allowed it most times.

"When do we have to be there, at the ball?"

"Not until early evening," Voldemort replied. "I'll try to make it short but…"

"Yes… everyone wants to meet you."

Such a difference. Just a few years ago, people would run screaming if they happened to catch a glance of Voldemort. They shook at the sound of his name. Fear penetrated their minds and left them helpless against him. And now they worshipped the ground he walked on.

"They wish to meet you too."

The precious lover of their lord. The hero boy who turned his back on his task. Harry didn't care what the rebels thought of him. They had called him whore, traitor, liar… it didn't matter. He was where he wanted to be, so if some people thought his task in life was to open his legs for the Dark Lord, so be it.

There were other things in life than sex. Sometimes he wished there wasn't, because he hated paperwork and annoying fans. He had his fair share, Voldemort had his own to deal with.

A gentle kiss broke him from his thoughts and he returned it. Voldemort washed his arms, between his fingers and Harry relaxed, gazing at his lover. The warm water made him sleepy…

"Wake up, love. I can't have you fall asleep in the tub _again_."

"You'll rescue me," Harry muttered.

"Not before groping you."

Harry shot up and glared at him.

"Nope, you've been doing that all night," he said. "You will not be doing any groping if you want to have the nice Harry with you tonight."

"I wouldn't mind the naughty one," Voldemort purred, kissing him. "He makes other people blush so prettily."

"Naughty Harry will grope you," Harry whispered against the Dark Lord's lips, "and humiliate you in front of a crowd."

"Mmm, see if I care."

"The worst thing is that you _won't _care. Horny, bad Dark Lord."

Voldemort laughed huskily against his cheek and continued to wash him off, taking care of the hair last.

"I'll get some clothes out," Voldemort said as Harry stepped out of the bath, wrapping a towel around himself.

"I can dress myself."

He was ignored. Harry wasn't so surprised. Voldemort took it as his duty to feed, wash and dress him, as if Harry hadn't done that his whole life. Ever since they had stopped being enemies, and wasn't that a weird thought, and start being lovers Voldemort had spoiled him rotten. It was rather nice to be looked after. Then again, anything's better than being in Petunia Dursley's or Albus Dumbledore's grasp. Harry had put up with it but always planned to break free once he got older.

Ever since he entered the magical world at eleven years old, Harry Potter learned to hate his own name. Hate the titles he was given. Hate the attention that overflowed. He became fast friends with a Weasley and a Muggleborn, showing all the signs he was the kind saviour, the Light's hero. But it didn't take long for Harry to yearn for a time-turner. He wanted to go back in time and take Draco Malfoy's hand. He wanted to turn back time and stop himself from begging to go to Gryffindor.

Slytherin was his house. Gryffindor was not. They weren't cautious. They were loud and foolish, didn't think ahead and did nothing good. Harry didn't fit in. A life with the Dursleys taught him to think ahead, be careful, be manipulative and lie straight through his teeth. He hated Muggles, not just his own family. People saw what the Dursleys did, and they didn't do anything about it. Strangers on the street saw how Petunia treated Harry and said nothing.

He lost faith in humanity already as a child. Then the magical world came, and he lost faith in everything. He trusted only his pet, his owl Hedwig. Ron and Hermione were at his side but he never truly confided in them. Hermione thought he and Ron were idiots, since they didn't read as much as she did, and Ron was jealous because people liked to stare at Harry's forehead. If Harry had been able to, he would have handed over all the attention to the redheaded twat and ran the other direction.

Drying his hair with magic he towelled the moisture off his skin and walked into the bedroom. Voldemort was holding out outfits, comparing them and then dove back into their wardrobe. Harry only shook his head and sat down on the bed, towel in his lap. He better show some sort of modesty.

It had taken until his fourth year until he was convinced of Voldemort's campaign. It helped he was Voldemort's Horcrux. That meant he knew now that Dumbledore had no intention of keeping him alive, and Voldemort no longer had a reason to kill him unless he wanted to murder part of his own soul. Which he didn't, because if Voldemort was one thing he was always aiming for survival.

Harry woke up from his thoughts when Voldemort came to a stop before him. He held up a black and silver robe, a silk shirt and trousers.

"No underwear?" Voldemort asked.

"You love it when you know I'm naked underneath," Harry said. "Plus it feels nice."

Voldemort grinned. He knelt down to put the trousers on. Harry smiled at the image; he was the only one Voldemort ever kneeled to.

"Do you remember, when I was eighteen, on a ball? You kneeled down to me in front of all those people and pledged your heart to me," Harry said, falling back on the bed, lifting his hips on the demand of Voldemort's questioning fingers. The trousers were pulled over the hips and fastened.

"Of course I remember, love."

"Admit it, you did it to see the shock on everyone's faces."

"Maybe," Voldemort allowed, kissing Harry's stomach, licking a stripe up to his neck. "You loved it. Especially Bellatrix's face."

"Aah, yes… your little bitch. She tried to dry-hump your leg when you got her released."

They hadn't even been lovers at the time but Harry wanted to rip her heart out at that. Bellatrix fucking Lestrange with her sick obsession. Voldemort bemoaned his fate, as she was even crazier after her stint in Azkaban than before it. Personally Harry didn't think she'd ever been sane judging by what others told him about Bellatrix pre-prison.

She also loved to taunt Harry, belittle him and she even tried to attack him a few times, thinking he was in the way. That he had to die. Voldemort hadn't taken too kindly on that.

"I had to lock my door," Voldemort said, pulling Harry up to dress him in the shirt. "She wanted to bed me."

"She has a husband."

"And Rodolphus isn't exactly a faithful man. He likes men far too much to ever be satisfied with that wife of his."

"Will they be there?"

"Everyone will be there, Harry. But it's you who wear my ring, you who hold my heart. Not her. Never her. I'd be crazy to accept her."

"Yet you don't let me kill her."

"Harry, love, that's not a natural sentence coming from your mouth."

"Oh, just because I don't enjoy slaughtering masses of people like you do I'm not allowed to kill off one or two annoying things in life?" Harry demanded.

Voldemort only shrugged, reaching for the robe he had laid out. Harry didn't put up a fight as he was wrestled into the robe, and only sighed deeply when the accessories came out.

"Isn't enough with the ring?" he asked. "You know, this big-ass ring that screams wealth and Slytherin smugness?"

"It does not," Voldemort said.

"It does, and don't argue with me. It's a smug ring," Harry said and showed it to him. "Look? Slytherin smugness, it's practically _grinning _with smugness."

"Just because it looks a bit posh…"

"Not a little. A lot. And smug."

"Alright, fine, it's a smug ring," Voldemort admitted. "But that's not quite saying enough."

Harry looked down at the smug-looking ring. A great ruby surrounded by silver and small slivers of onyx. He thought it said plenty. But no, not for this snarky Dark Lord. It had to be more.

"How is this not enough?"

"It's not," the Dark Lord decided.

"One day I won't be able to walk around, the jewellery will be so heavy I can't move," Harry complained. "I do not need to be a glittering thingy."

"You won't."

Harry sighed again, dramatically this time but Voldemort ignored this. A necklace around Harry's neck, two bracelets on top of the robe, rings in his ears.

"Put a tiara on me and I'll strangle you in the non-sexy way," Harry warned. "I do not need a tiara."

"They're nice."

"True, but I'm not wearing one at a stupid Ministry ball. Put a tiara on me any other day and I'll wear it."

Voldemort stepped back and motioned for Harry to get up. He did so and spun around, already used to it. Voldemort reached out and tangled out a few knots in the long, dark hair.

"Do you have any idea how regal you look?" Voldemort asked.

"Since you're making those eyes at me, I must be looking rather hot," Harry replied.

Voldemort grinned and pulled Harry flush to his chest.

"My own little hot thing," he whispered. "All mine."

"You're getting handsy with me. Voldemort, hands, hands! If you try to jerk me off when I'm dressed like this, I will _skin _you alive."

The Dark Lord removed his hands, chin resting on Harry's shoulder, and Harry glared at him the best he could. Voldemort merely smiled and kissed his cheek.

"Do you want anything to eat before we go?"

"No. Get me a pair of gloves."

"Yes, _master_."

Harry hit his shoulder and walked out of the bedroom, out of their private wing and down the stairs into the main hall. Harry loved the manor, loved the space. Living in cramp rooms up until Voldemort took him away from that part of his life, it was only natural he wanted more space and light.

Voldemort came down behind him, handing over a pair of black gloves and putting a black cloak over Harry's shoulders. Harry shrugged it off.

"I won't need it. We'll Apparate, mingle, then get the hell away."

"So that your fans don't get a chance to worship you?" Voldemort asked.

"So the crazy Light doesn't get to barb insults. How can I ever have even _tried _to be friends with that Granger and Weasley?"

"I can't believe you didn't kill them."

"Killing them would destroy my fun," Harry said. "I love to see their snarling faces and their desperate attempts to turn me Light again. As if I ever truly was."

"Hmm, I don't know how to feel about this. On one hand, I'm grateful for Petunia Dursley's horrid treatment, which enabled you to more easily turn to me. On the other hand I want to kill her again for ever laying a hand on you."

"Who cares now?" Harry said. "She's dead and I'm glad for it. You tortured her and Vernon for weeks before that as well."

"You wouldn't let me kill that cousin of yours."

"No, I wanted to kill someone and you wouldn't let me touch my own aunt or uncle."

Voldemort kissed him deeply and shrugged after that, saying even as he guided Harry to the Apparition point:

"I don't take kindly to people who hurt such a precious thing."

Harry still blushed at that. Voldemort merely tugged him close and spun on the spot, Apparating them from Slytherin Manor to the new Minister's manor. It wasn't Lucius Malfoy, he was more needed in a shadowed position. It was but a puppet to both Lucius and Voldemort. The Light tried to fight with all their might against the man but so far they were fighting a losing battle, ever since Albus Dumbledore died.

He had died on Harry's seventeenth birthday, when Voldemort kidnapped the whole Dursley family and made Harry his. Up until then, people in the Light hadn't even begun to suspect Harry's defection to the dark side three years prior. The look on Albus' face was worth keeping it secret. Harry loved it, the defeated expression, the last-ditch attempt of trying to kill Harry. It didn't work of course; Voldemort had drilled him for three years and turned Harry into a decent dueller. He shielded himself and together with the Dark Lord he had ended that old fool's life.

The rebels still wore Dumbledore's name, still called themselves the Order of the Phoenix. They were in the open, some arrested while others slipped through the dark's fingers, much like Lucius slipped through theirs for several years. Ron and Hermione were part of that order, part of the rebels but Harry didn't demand them arrested. He wanted them tortured for a lot longer, having to see him and Voldemort in public together and knowing they had forever lost their little saviour.

Not that it stopped them from trying to revert him into their puppet. The closest they got was last year when one rebel managed to sneak a powerful compulsion potion into Harry's drink. Voldemort caught it before Harry ran off, had Severus brew the antidote and ever since they both tested Harry's drinks and food.

Severus wasn't a kind man, and hated Harry at first even when they were on the same side. But once Harry proved he wasn't like his father, he wasn't a stupid bully after all, the potions master's defences slowly wore down until they could make small talk and even have deeper discussions without Voldemort present, ready to restrain them both from having a fist fight.

To their defence, that only happened twice… three times… alright, maybe _seven _but it wasn't like they had fought in the last few years.

Harry greeted the Minister with a firm handshake and swept into the grand ballroom with Voldemort just behind him. People made way for them both, bowing or greeting with words. A few, rebels, sneered but Harry only sent them a charming smile and continued to plough on. At one point, Voldemort was joined by Lucius and Harry's appointed bodyguards apparently were Severus and Draco.

Draco was alright. Arrogant yes, and spoilt rotten but they got along especially when Harry made it clear he wasn't with the Light. To think Draco was envious of Harry's fame. Harry compared him to Ron, and that made Draco shriek in outrage and Lucius suffered a silent, slightly embarrassing laugh attack. Narcissa only shook her head at both husband and son. She was the centre of the family, a calm presence between Draco's childish arrogance and Lucius' cold demeanour.

Harry barely looked behind him as he walked up to the food table. He handed a glass over to Severus and picked out light food which the potions master took after handing back the glass and saying:

"It's cleared."

Harry took a sip and only now greeted Draco with a nod of his head. The years had done the blond good. He was much calmer now, and not as envious. He hated to be a bodyguard, thought it belittled him but once he saw Lucius willingly serving as Voldemort's bodyguard he shut up. After all, being the bodyguard of Lord Voldemort's lover was quite the feat.

"Why did you take the sausage away?" Harry asked Severus.

"Arsenic," Severus replied. "Don't see the point of it, one dosage wouldn't be enough to cause permanent damage."

"Maybe it's aimed against someone else," Harry said and popped a piece of cheese into his mouth. "Hey, did you just vanish it all?"

There was considerably less sausage on the table.

"No point in having others getting sick."

"Would've been fun," Harry said. "Some of them at least. I think someone is giving me the stinky eye."

"Granger and Weasley incoming," Draco muttered. "Ghastly creatures."

"Now, now, Draco, I know their very presence is making little sensitive you feel ill but behave."

Draco glared at Harry at 'little sensitive you' but Harry only chuckled and handed him the empty plate.

"Eat, have fun. I'll have a chat with them," he said.

"We're told to stay with you."

"When did Voldemort have time to tell you that?"

"He told us the first time," Severus said, "when you were seventeen. That order won't change unless he tells us."

"Alright, alright, you can shadow me then you little creeps."

"Mental," Draco muttered, then turned as Ron and Hermione approached.

Harry took off and the two followed. He smiled and weaved through the crowd, ending up on a balcony where he turned and saw them just a few feet away.

"What?" he said. "Nice hair, Hermione. Looks like you only broke two brushes this time."

"Harry," she said, flushing at the comment. Her hair was very sleek and straight. "I'm glad we can talk to you alone."

"Really? What could we possible have to talk about in _private_?" he asked. "Is it about my clothes, or the jewellery? I tried to protest but Voldemort is crazy about shiny things. I look good in shiny things. Much better than those rags the Muggles gave me."

"Harry…" Ron began.

"Harry this, Harry that. Always Harry, Harry, _Harry_," he said. "I am a lord, you know? You aren't that familiar with me? I mean, Draco can call me Harry all he wants but that's because we're _friends_."

"Harry, we are your friends too," Hermione said. "If only you could wake up and see that."

"I'm rather sure I am awake," Harry countered with. "But nice try."

"This isn't what was supposed to happen."

"No? You have a script then? Let me guess, it should've gone like this; I kill bad Voldemort, marry your trash sister Ginny and have her crank out more babies than your poor mother because that's what powerful people are supposed to do, pass on the torch of superior magic."

"My sister isn't trash!"

"She's not? She tried to poison me with love potions in sixth year, or have you forgotten that already? I nearly _died_, twice, due to your dim-witted sister, _Ronald_."

Ron flushed and moved closer, gripped Harry's arm hard and hissed:

"You've been cursed! We'll cure you!"

"I don't think so. Your sister still tried to poison me to death, then she attacked me-"

"She didn't!"

"She jumped onto me and tried to stab me in the gut; I count that as an attack. What is your mother teaching you, Ron? Oh, that's right; she can't teach you anything because she's _dead_. That's what happens when you try to kill the Dark Lord."

Molly Weasley had made a last attempt to trick Harry intro drinking love potion that would make him fall for Ginny, and kill the Dark Lord at the same time. Ambitious lady, bad ideas. All she got out of it was two days of torture and then cursed into insanity before finally killed a few months later. Arthur Weasley followed that fate not long after that, although all he tried to do was kill Harry. He had managed to stab the teen too, so he was subjected to even more torture by Voldemort before Harry woke up and managed to make him stop.

"She was doing the right thing," Ron said.

"She was an idiot."

"Harry, we will save you," Hermione said. "Please, just let us save you."

"How about no? I have a whole wing for myself and my lover. I have clothes, money, jewellery, all the books I want and lots of sex. Sex is wonderful, maybe you should try it and loosen up some, Hermione. I have all I want. Why should I leave?"

"You're delusional, Harry! It's not what you have!"

"For your information, Ron, I'm not delusional but even if I was… then my delusions have given me more than I ever had… why would I ever try to leave it?"

Harry grinned at him, removed Ron's grip and moved away as Hermione darted forward.

"That's a Portkey in your hand, Hermione. Naughty girl. Aah, love, look who I found!"

They both froze. They couldn't move. The imposing figure of lord Voldemort moved past them and he wrapped Harry up in his embrace.

"I was looking for you," Voldemort said. "I wish to dance."

"No more politics tonight, darling?"

"No."

"Well then… lead the way. I'm yours."

"Yes, you are." Voldemort looked up at the two Light members. "Unauthorized Portkey inside of the Minister's manor, Miss Granger? Living on the edge, aren't we?"

"The Light will win," Hermione said faintly.

"The Light always thinks so," Voldemort said. "But wherever the Light goes, it will find out that the dark always made it first… and is waiting for it."

Voldemort took Harry's hand and led him into the warmth again, leaving Harry's two former friends fuming.

"They will become an obstacle sooner or later," Voldemort said as he led the way to the middle of the room. Music had begun to play and couples moved to dancing positions.

"I know. They'll die soon," Harry said. "It was Draco in the dark of the balcony, right?"

"Correct. How did you know?"

"He's not as quiet as Severus. He's getting there but not quite yet."

"He makes a fine bodyguard."

"Yes," Harry said as he let Voldemort put a hand around his waist, placing his own on the Dark Lord's shoulder. "Once he got over his sulking and whining of having to become one."

Voldemort chuckled, and then swept Harry away.

-o-

Later, much later, they lay down in bed together, having danced the ball away and then made some more intimate dancing in the privacy of their bedroom.

"This is paradise," Harry murmured.

Voldemort kissed him several times, pulling him closer.

"I love you," he said.

"I love you too."

It was their own wonderful Christmas.

End

* * *

Hope you enjoyed!

Until another time,

See ya,

Tiro


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